


So It Goes

by thecomedownchampion, Weak



Series: My Head is an Animal [1]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Character Study, M/M, post - season 3
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-07
Updated: 2013-11-12
Packaged: 2017-12-31 19:43:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 5
Words: 13,712
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1035640
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thecomedownchampion/pseuds/thecomedownchampion, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Weak/pseuds/Weak
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Derek left with Cora a few days ago. There were no goodbyes. No heartfelt exchanges. Derek left a text for Scott just to inform him. Stiles is okay with that. </p><p>Then Derek returns with Cora and it's even better until it isn't because people are dying again and the FBI are catching on.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Alice's Adventures in Wonderland

**Author's Note:**

> Got this writing bug and just had to do it. I'm happy with how it turned out. 
> 
> And yes, by the way, "So it goes" is absolutely a tribute to Slaughterhouse Five.

When Stiles wakes up on the thirtieth of September, he can’t help but laugh, suddenly thinking of an old Green Day song. This last month has been the worst sort of hell. Between the deaths of Heather, Erica, Boyd, Tara, and coming _so close_ to losing his father too, Stiles wishes it had all just been some terrible dream. He’s been getting those a lot lately, nightmares. Sometimes about the Alpha Pack, sometimes about the Darach. He wonders what Morrell would say about them; if she’d attribute the nightmares to post traumatic stress disorder—which would definitely be justified—or if it’s a symptom of what happened in Deaton’s clinic when he became a surrogate sacrifice to the Nemeton.

He figures it’s about the same anyway.

_So it goes._

 

 

Derek left with Cora a few days ago. There were no goodbyes. No heartfelt exchanges. Derek left a text for Scott just to inform him. Stiles is okay with that.

He gets why Derek had to leave. Beacon Hills was going to kill him, burn and leech the life out of him until all that was left was an empty husk, like the charred shell of the Hale house on the preserve. The Hale house is living proof that life continues whether or not you’re a part of it. Weeds grow between the crumbling floorboards and ivy creeps along the walls. The afternoon sun filters through cracked windows, illuminating the dust motes that dance through the air. The house encroached on wild land, and now the forest is taking it back.

People are much the same. Derek’s childhood memories were burned away with his family home, and now his pack is gone—dead or having changed allegiance now that Stiles hears that Derek is no longer an Alpha, gave it up to save the only thing he really had left. Derek’s world has crashed around him once more, and Beacon Hills is going to move on.

And so must Derek.

And it’s hard to move on when you’re surrounded by constant reminders of what you’ve lost. Stiles knows that better than most. His mother is still a tender scar, a topic to be avoided at all costs. Her belongings are gradually being eaten alive by moths in the attic.

_(So it goes.)_

So yeah, Stiles gets it. He hopes that Derek and Cora find whatever they’re looking for, because he knows better than to believe that Derek would ever do anything _just because_ , even if it’s for his own good. Derek is a man of purpose, kind of like Stiles, and that’s how he knows that Derek didn’t leave without a destination in mind. He doesn’t have to know Derek intimately to know that.

Stiles gets the feeling that Cora wouldn’t be able to travel aimlessly either. He doesn’t know her very well, but she reminds him of Derek, is haunted by similar ghosts. She may not carry the self-assigned guilt her brother does, but there’s definitely a burden on her shoulders and skeletons that whisper to her through closet doors. Maybe she and Derek can sift through them together one day and finally lay them to rest. Stiles doesn’t keep his hopes up.

On a whim, he sends Derek a text. It says, ‘ _Why is a raven like a writing desk?_ ’

Two hours later, Stiles receives the reply, ‘ _Because Poe wrote on both._ ’

The corner of his mouth turns upward and he feels a little lighter. Breathes a little easier. Derek is gone for now, but he won’t be gone forever. Stiles doesn’t think this, but knows it with the same conviction that he knows the sky is blue. Derek will be back.    

 

 

The Alpha twins are still hanging around Beacon Hills and attending the high school. Stiles doesn’t like it. He doesn’t trust them. Ethan isn’t as bad. Toward the end, he seemed more interested in Danny than working for Deucalion. Aiden sets off all of Stiles’ alarms. He hates that Lydia is letting him get so close, but then he thinks maybe that’s just how she is. Maybe Lydia takes one look at the worst sort of person for her and runs full tilt toward them with her arms wide open. Stiles thinks of her lips pressed against his and the darkness that coils around his insides, infecting his bloodstream and twisting his mind if he doesn’t consciously keep it at bay. He wonders if one day he’ll be one of Lydia’s bad decisions.

Scott says not to worry about it, tells Stiles he’ll keep an eye on the twins. Scott has changed a lot, Stiles realizes, and not just from becoming an Alpha and sacrificing himself for his mother. He’s been changing for a while now. There are shadows under his eyes, evidence of the lack of sleep he’s been getting, but he stands tall and confidence pushes his broad shoulders back and holds his head high. Stiles mourns his naïve best friend with the dopey smile, but he loves Scott no less and if he’s being honest with himself, he’s actually proud of the man his naïve best friend has become.

Besides, Stiles has changed too. He sometimes wonders what his mother would think of the man he’s becoming.

He wonders what Danny would think if he knew that Ethan helped murder Vernon Boyd. He thinks back to the macabre tableau he walked in on then: Boyd bleeding out on the flooded floor as Derek knelt before him, hands stained red and chest heaving with grief. He remembers the way Derek’s shoulder convulsed beneath his trembling hand with every breath. How difficult it was to pull him away later. Stiles will never forgive the twins for that.

The school had an assembly to honour the deaths in town, in particular the students and teachers at the school. There were a lot of tears. Stiles wonders what they’d think if they knew the truth, wonders if they really are better off not knowing. Probably not, he thinks. You can’t defend yourself from something you don’t understand. But it would turn into a witch hunt, and Stiles has people he wants to protect more than he wants to protect this town. With Scott’s dad and the FBI hanging around, trying to figure out what the hell is going on in Beacon Hills, it’s going to be a challenge to keep werewolves a secret if what Deaton said about the Nemeton is true.

So it goes.

 

 

**To Derek Hale [2:43PM]**

_How much is the lease on your old loft in BH?_

**From Derek Hale [3:22PM]**

_$1200 a month. Who’s interested?_

**To Derek Hale [3:25PM]**

_2 bedroom apt. 134 West Ave. $1400 per month lease._

**From Derek Hale [3:26PM]**

_How forward of you._

**To Derek Hale [3:28PM]**

_It’s for you and Cora, jackass! You’re welcome, by the way._

**From Derek Hale [3:30PM]**

_How presumptuous of you._

**To Derek Hale [3:31PM]**

_Yeah right. You’re not bullshitting anyone._

**From Derek Hale [3:33PM]**

_Okay._

 

 

It’s getting worse.

The nightmares that plague Stiles’ sleep are starting to cross over into his daily life. It reminds him of Lydia’s hallucinations when Peter was trying to gain control of her from the grave (Stiles still has no idea how the hell he did it). The sleep deficit he experiences night after night is adding up, resulting in narcoleptic tendencies during the day. He zones out and dozes off, and in those fragile spaces between sleeping and wakefulness, the horrors wait to consume him whole. It’s a vicious cycle. Stiles is afraid to sleep at night. If he doesn’t sleep at night, his energy-starved body shuts down on him during the day and leaves him helpless. There’s no escape.

And despite the way the weight of it drags on him like a ball and chain, he can’t seem to bring himself to reach out for help. He knows that it’s gotten to Scott and Allison, but they’ve held it together. Stiles doesn’t want to be the weak link. He’s sick of being the weak link.

He doesn’t want to go to Derek about it either. Stiles knows that Derek left Beacon Hills for a reason and he wants to interfere with that as little as possible, hence why they have had exactly two exchanges since he left a few weeks ago.

Stiles thinks that if anyone would understand what he’s going through, it would be Lydia. Perhaps he’ll go to her.

(He won’t.)

 

 

Lydia has a Halloween party on the thirty-first. Stiles convinces Scott to go as a werewolf while he dresses in a masculinized Little Red Riding Hood outfit. They start snickering the moment they see each other when Stiles goes to pick him up. When they get to the party, Lydia takes one look at them and suddenly looks like an exasperated mother, chin ducking and eyes rolling up to glare at them from beneath her lashes.

“ _Really?_ ” she says.

“I thought it seemed appropriate,” Stiles tells her brightly.

Lydia shakes her head and opens the door wider to let them in.

Scott agrees to be the designated driver since his werewolf metabolism prevents him from getting drunk, so Stiles gets a healthy buzz. They chat with Lydia and Danny. Stiles glares menacingly at Ethan and Aiden, the latter of which giving him a smug smirk in return. They hang out with Isaac and Allison, and Stiles sees the way Isaac’s gaze lingers on her and he thinks that something more is growing between them. He hopes it doesn’t ruin Isaac’s friendship with Scott, but Scott is still smiling serenely at them, so maybe this open wound is finally starting to heal over.

Chris Argent must be so proud. 

Afterward, Scott drives Stiles home in his jeep, and when they pull in the driveway, they see a figure in a black leather jacket standing across the street from the Stilinski house. Scott’s eyes flash red and he jerks himself out of the vehicle to approach the man. Stiles’ heart thuds in his chest and he scrambles to follow Scott.

It’s Derek. As if it could be anyone else.

When they reach him, Scott says, “Hey.” But he knows better than to say, ‘ _Welcome back._ ’ There is nothing welcoming about being back in Beacon Hills for Derek. Derek looks better. He looks like he hasn’t shaved in several days and he still wears all dark colours, but he somehow looks lighter. Perhaps he and Cora opted to run inventory on those skeletons after all.

Derek raises one of those thick eyebrows as he takes in their costumes. “Nice outfits.”

Scott’s eyes crinkle with a restrained laugh. “Thanks.”

“Want to be the Big Bad Wolf?” Stiles asks.

Derek’s eyes meet his. “I think Scott’s got that covered.”

“But you pull it off _so well_.”

Derek turns to Scott. “What’s been happening?”

Scott fills Derek in on what he’s missed. He tells Derek about what they did to save their parents and the consequences they’re now facing. He tells Derek about the presence of the FBI and how they’ve been slowly connecting dots and trying to find more people to link together for questioning. In the meantime, Stiles watches Derek. He definitely wouldn’t say that Derek has healed, but it’s a work in progress. Derek seems softer. Though the pain is still evident, he no longer lashes out with it. Instead of raw and festering, it just waits beneath the surface like internal bleeding. Muted.

When Scott has told Derek everything he needs to know, he rocks back on his heels and says he has to get going since they have school tomorrow. He smiles at Stiles, says, “See you tomorrow, dude,” and runs into the woods, leaving Derek and Stiles alone together. Stiles gives Derek a tight lipped smile and gets two raised eyebrows in return.

“I missed you,” Stiles says suddenly, and before Derek can respond, Stiles pulls him into a tight hug. He smells good and his body is warm and solid and _real_ in Stiles’ arms. Derek tenses at first, but after a few seconds he melts into the embrace, hands tentatively coming up to rest on Stiles’ back. He doesn’t hug back exactly, but he’s receptive, and that’s what matters. When Stiles pulls back, he gives Derek a small but genuine smile and he says, “It’s good to have you back.”

Derek stares at him with this gutted look. It reminds Stiles of two occasions: the first is when they were talking about the kanima after Stiles held him in the swimming pool for two hours, the way Derek had looked after Stiles described it as an abomination. The second is when Stiles slapped Derek back into consciousness in the elevator at the hospital, Derek clutching Stiles’ wrist in a vice-grip as Stiles said frantically, _'We’ve got to get you out of here!'_

Derek nods and Stiles finds himself reaching out to twine their hands together and give Derek’s a brief squeeze.   

“I’ll see you around, okay? Don’t be a stranger,” Stiles says, and then he pulls away from Derek and heads back to his house, that same smile still on his lips. He’d be a fool to think that just because Derek’s back, everything’s going to be okay. Everything will never be okay. But now it’s just a little better, a little more tolerable, and that’s enough for now.

When Stiles gets to his bedroom, he boots up his laptop and searches for the apartment advertisement he sent Derek a couple weeks ago. Can’t find it. Someone bought a new lease on the apartment the day before last. Stiles grins and begins to compile a list of ideas for a housewarming gift, knowing how much Derek will hate it on principle. Cora won’t get it, but she’ll learn eventually.

And so it goes.


	2. John Dies at the End

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The prologue quote is from the same novel this chapter is named after: John Dies at the End by David Wong. It's my favourite book of all time.

On November first, Stiles goes to Derek’s new apartment. He knocks on the door and waits an awkward thirty seconds before it’s opened by Cora. She’s dressed in jeans and a sweater and she looks Stiles up and down with an unreadable expression.

In September, Cora would have given Stiles an annoyed look and said, ‘ _What do you want?_ ’ But now she gives him a nod and leans against the doorframe with a “Hey.”

“Hey, Cora. You look better,” says Stiles. And she does. The same subtle transformation that’s taken place in Derek has taken place in her. The rough edges have been sandpapered down into something not exactly approachable, but not so threatening either. “I brought you something.” Stiles slips his backpack from his shoulders and digs out a box of mini KitKats, Aero bars, and Coffee Crisp. He stopped by the grocery store after school to buy discount candy now that Halloween is over.

Cora’s eyes zero in on the box and she smirks, grabbing it from Stiles’ hands. “You may come in,” she says, stepping back to open the door wider.

“Oh, I see how it is. You just want me for my candy.” Stiles steps into the apartment and looks around. The floors are hardwood and the walls are painted a warm, golden cream. To the left the living room opens into the kitchen. There’s a large window on the far wall to let light in. The living room is furnished with an armchair and a long leather couch in front of a shelf unit with a television on it. There’s a glass coffee table in front of the couch. Stiles bets it all came with the apartment. To the right is a carpeted hallway the leads to the bathroom and the two bedrooms. Stiles lets out a low whistle. “Damn, I sure know how to pick them.”

Derek emerges from the kitchen with a mug in hand. “Stiles, what are you doing here?”

“Derek! Buddy ole pal. How’s it going?” Stiles throws his arms out in a dramatic gesture.

Derek raises his eyebrows. “I asked you first.”

“I can’t just come for a social visit?”

“I don’t really do social visits.”

“You best start believing in social visits, Derek. You’re in one.”

Derek rolls his eyes and takes a sip of his coffee. Stiles flops onto the couch like it’s his own and eggs Cora on until she tells him about where she and Derek have been. Stiles knows that she doesn’t tell him everything, that there are things she chooses to omit and keep between her and her brother. He gets it and he doesn’t call her out on it, no matter how curious he is. As the smooth cadence of Cora’s voice fills the apartment, Derek reclines back in the armchair with a copy of _Good Omens_. The atmosphere is peaceful in a way Stiles never would have expected with the Hales. The only sounds are the crinkling of wrappers as he and Cora pick at candy, their soft voices, and Derek turning the pages of his novel.

Derek is near the end of the book, and when Stiles gets up to leave, he asks, “Are you planning on reading anything after that?”

“No, Stiles,” says Derek. “I will never touch another book again.”

The sarcasm catches Stiles off guard and he huffs a laugh. “What a shame. I was going to lend you some of mine.”

Despite Derek’s aloof facade, Stiles sees his eyes flicker with interest. “Too bad. I was _really_ interested in what you like to read.”   

Stiles gives Derek the middle finger and says, “Cora, make sure he doesn’t get any of the candy.”

Cora raises an eyebrow and shakes her head, but she’s smirking with amusement.

Yeah, Stiles can work with this.   

 

 

Stiles picks through the books in his room, scouring through science fiction and mystery and classic literature until he reaches horror. Stiles sits back on his heels to look at his collection. He’s sorted all of his books by genre to pick some out for Derek. He picks up _The Green Mile_ and recalls how enthralled he’d been by the novel when he was younger. Stiles had been a big horror fan. He doesn’t read much horror these days, not since Scott was bitten by Peter.

Most people, Stiles thinks, read horror for the thrill they can’t get from reality. It’s exciting, but safe. If it gets too bad, you can just close the book and move on to something else. Stiles hadn’t wanted safety. Stephen King could only give Stiles his kicks for so long before he yearned for something more. Before he sought out horror in real life. So one winter day, Stiles went out with his best friend to find half of a dead body in the woods.

So it goes.

And now Stiles figures he gets more than enough horror in his life. He doesn’t have to read about it anymore, he just lives it.

Stiles picks up a book from the horror pile and smirks as he opens it to the prologue.

‘ _Solving the following riddle will reveal the awful secret behind the universe, assuming you do not go utterly mad in the attempt. If you already happen to know the awful secret behind the universe, feel free to skip ahead._ ’

Stiles skips ahead.

 

 

“So,” Stiles says. “Isaac and Allison.”

“Yeah,” says Scott.

Stiles raises his eyebrows. “And you’re okay with that?”

“Part of me will always love her.”

“Yeah?”

“But she’s ready to move on, and if I want her in my life at all, the worst thing I could do is hold her back.”

Stiles nods amicably.

“So Lydia,” Scott says.

“Yeah,” says Stiles.

“I haven’t really heard anything about your undying love for her in a while.”

“Part of me will always love her too, but…”

“Yeah?”

“But I’m more okay with being her friend than I thought I would be. What we have right now is _good_. I’m happy with it. Well, except for the fact that she’s with fucking _Aiden_.”

“You mean except for the fact that she’s _fucking_ Aiden.”

“ _Dude._ ”

“Sorry.” Scott smiles sheepishly. “I guess this means we’re growing up.”

“Yeah well so it goes.”

“So it goes,” Scott agrees.

 

 

Sometimes Stiles screams in his sleep when the nightmares get really bad. He knows because when he goes down to the kitchen for a glass of water after washing the cold sweat from his face, there’s a mug of hot cocoa sitting on the counter and his dad is sitting on the living room couch with the volume of the television down low.

Stiles picks up the mug, feels it warm against his palms, and goes over to sit next to his dad, leaning into his side as they watch late night programs. His dad never asks, ‘ _Trouble sleeping?_ ’ or ‘ _Are you okay?_ ’ or ‘ _Do you want to talk about it?_ ’ Dad knows what Stiles did to save him, hates it and is damn proud of him for it, and he knows that Stiles hates sleeping, that he’s not okay and that he doesn’t want to talk about it. So instead he offers his silent support and waits on the living room couch just in case Stiles decides he _does_ want to talk about it, makes sure that his son won’t have to go through this alone.   

Stiles loves his dad. He really, really loves his dad.

“Hey,” his dad says.

“Hey,” says Stiles with his voice hoarse. “Trouble sleeping?”

Dad shrugs. “It happens.”

“Yeah.”

They chuckle at bad infomercials.

Dad is more okay with his son hanging around werewolves than Stiles would have thought, doesn’t even mind when Stiles tells him he’s going to see Derek Hale. Stiles figures his dad knows that if he forbade Stiles from seeing them, nothing good would come out of it. Stiles would find a way to get to them anyway, it would drive a new wedge into their relationship, and if something happened to his friends and Stiles wasn’t there to protect them, he’d always carry that with him. So his dad smiles when Scott and Isaac wander into the house and raid the refrigerator for food. Tells Stiles not to bother Derek too much when he goes to see him. Sends along sweets for Cora.

And Stiles loves him for it.       

 

 

It’s hard, starting high school. Harder still to do so partway through the year. But hardest of all is starting high school after everyone has spent years thinking you were dead.

Cora scowls as whispers and stares fill the classroom when she’s introduced. Stiles makes sure there’s an empty desk behind him that day. When Cora sits there, eyes follow.

Stiles rolls his own and says, “Gentlemen, please. I know you’re all eager to court this exemplary young lady, but you’re making this way more awkward than it ought to be.”

They turn away then and Stiles grins at Cora. The dry look only stays on her face for a few seconds before she smirks back.

Yeah, she’s going to be okay.

 

 

“So what are you?” asks Stiles.

“A werewolf,” says Derek.

Stiles throws a Coffee Crisp at him. “No, I mean are you and Cora Betas or Omegas?”

“Why do you want to know?”

“Well a Beta has an Alpha…”

“And?”

“And the only Alpha we know who isn’t a douche is Scott.” Stiles lets the words settle in for a moment.

“Scott may be an Alpha,” Derek says histrionically, eyes wide with exaggerated seriousness, “but he’s not mine!”  

Stiles howls with laughter.

 

 

Stiles doesn’t know where Cora was all these years after the fire, but she’s completely lost at school. So Stiles tutors her. It works well. He goes to the apartment after school, usually with a snack, and teaches Cora all of the material in a way she can understand without having to take extra prerequisite courses. While they pluck their way through homework, Derek cooks dinner.

“I didn’t know you could cook,” Stiles says incredulously the first time Derek sets a meal in front of him.

Derek raises an eyebrow. “Of course I can cook. Laura and I took turns. And… _before_ , we had a big family. Mom always got the older kids to help out.”

Stiles stares at Derek with wonderment. He never expected Derek to reveal anything personal about himself. Ever. And least of all something about his past. He’s not sure how he feels about the fact that Derek would share this piece of himself with _him_ of all people, but he thinks that one day he’d like to share a part of himself with Derek too.

Once while Stiles is helping Derek wash the dishes after dinner, he asks what it’s like to be a werewolf.

Derek frowns. “What do you mean?”

“Scott’s always talking about how he has to balance his wolf side and his human side.”

“Maybe it’s like that for Scott,” Derek says, “but I don’t have a ‘wolf side’ or a ‘human side’. It’s all just me.”

The fundamental difference between born werewolves and bitten werewolves, Stiles learns, is that born werewolves don’t separate the ‘were’ from the ‘wolf’. It’s all the same to Derek; it’s how he’s always been. There are no bipolar instincts warring for dominance inside of him. Derek may have a lot of personal issues, but his identity as a werewolf is not one of him. That part of himself, at least, he is at peace with. Scott is getting better, has improved a hell of a lot since he was first bitten, but maybe Derek could still give him a few pointers.

Another time, Stiles asks Derek if he’s seen Peter around at all since he and Cora came back. He hasn’t. Stiles mumbles under his breath about ‘crazy motherfuckers’ even though he knows Derek and Cora can both hear him. He figures they probably agree.

 

 

On the full moon, Scott brings the local werewolves to the preserve where they can run around freely and burn off their energy. He even invites Derek and Cora.

“How generous of him,” Derek says to Stiles when he hangs up the phone, “inviting me to frolic on my own property.”

“Can’t say I can picture you doing anything that could be described as frolicking,” says Stiles. “Maybe something more like roaming or prowling.”

When Scott tells Stiles that he invited Ethan and Aiden, Stiles is livid.

“Are you out of your fucking _mind?!_ ” Stiles yells. “Inviting the Alpha twins to run around with Derek and Cora?! Do you not remember that they’re the ones who made Derek kill Boyd?”

“It’s not that I want them to be there,” Scott protests. “I just want to be able to keep an eye on them.”

“Yeah, keep your enemies close and your PTSD-afflicted friends closer,” Stiles scoffs. He gets why Scott’s doing this; he _does._ But he can’t stand the idea of Derek and Cora being forced to run around the woods with them like they’re pack. “Tell you what, let me come along and I’ll keep the Hales distracted.”

“What about Cora?” Scott says. “Does she have full control of her shift again now?”

“I don’t know. I’ll get some mountain ash from Deaton.”

Scott reluctantly agrees, and when he goes to the vet clinic for his shift, he brings Stiles along so that he can get mountain ash.

After acquiring the ash and a number of garden flags, Stiles drives his Jeep over to the preserve and parks it by the Hale house. He steps out of the vehicle, planting his feet on the leaf-strewn ground, and inhales deeply. The air is cool and crisp, smelling of dry leaves. For the next few hours, Stiles tromps through the woods in preparation for tonight. He bypasses the nearby trees and heads deep into the forest, winding along deer-trodden paths and dying underbrush. The preserve is beautiful, Stiles realizes, and he’d be lying if he said he wasn’t a little envious of Derek for having grown up here. He wonders what it was like for Derek and Cora to wander these same paths with their enhanced senses.

When night falls and the moon rises, the wolves come out to play. Isaac catches a ride with Scott, and he looks completely unsurprised when he sees that Stiles is already there. He nods a greeting, says, “Hey,” and stands by Scott while they wait for the others.

“Are you sure you’re going to be okay?” Scott asks Stiles.

“Yeah, I’m all set.” In fact, Stiles is actually excited for tonight.

Scott sees Stiles’ comfort and smiles, his posture relaxing. “Okay. I trust you. But if I sense that anything is out of sorts, I’m coming for you, alright?”

“My knight in shining armour.”

Scott huffs a laugh and shoves Stiles’ shoulder playfully.

Derek and Cora arrive shortly after that and Stiles is relieved that they made it before the twins did. Derek doesn’t seem to share the sentiment.

“What the hell is _he_ doing here?” Derek demands, looking at Scott.

“Way to talk about a guy like he isn’t here,” Stiles says.

Without missing a beat, Derek snaps, “Shut up.”

“Look, it’s okay,” Scott protests. “Stiles knows what he’s doing and he’s taken precaution. And if anything happens, I’ll protect him. Just let it go, man.”

“He isn’t a werewolf,” says Cora. “He shouldn’t be here.”

The comment stings more than it should. Stiles thought he and Cora were gradually becoming something that could be called friends. That’s why he turns to her and Derek, eyes narrowed, and says, “I have more right to be here than either of you. Werewolf or not, I’m a part of this pack. So we can prance around the forest at night and enjoy a full moon together in which we’re not fighting for our lives, or the two of you can bitch elsewhere. The choice is yours.” Stiles stomps into the woods and smirks when, moments later, he hears two sets of footsteps following him. He slows a little to let them catch up, then turns, suddenly dashing forward to slap Derek on the arm while shouting, “You’re it!” and taking off at a sprint away from him.

Stiles would have paid to see the look on Derek’s face in his moment of inner conflict as he fought between maintaining his rigid composure and giving in to the impulse to _chase_ , but he throws his head back and laughs as he hears the heavy footfalls behind him after only a moment’s hesitation. Cora yips, and then she’s running too. With Derek’s werewolf speed, he’s gaining on Stiles quickly. In a moment he’ll be within tackling distance. Stiles’ eye catches one of his bright red garden flags and he hurries toward it, one hand digging into his pocket. Stiles feels Derek’s hand reaching out, so close to his back, and as Stiles passes the flag he throws down a small handful of mountain ash. Derek crashes to a halt as he hits the barrier, eyes wild with shock and the thrill of the hunt.

“You cheated,” Derek says.

“No,” Stiles corrects, “I evened up the playing field. You have your super-speed, I have my mountain ash. I’ve set up a number of incomplete circles around the woods for me to run to.”

“I thought we were playing tag. Can’t tag you when you’re in there.”

“Go chase Cora.”

Derek does.

Stiles grins to himself as he catches his breath, listening to the sounds of bodies crashing through the woods. When he’s ready to go again, he waits until the coast is clear before stepping across the line of mountain ash. The moment he clears the circle, he’s tackled by 200 pounds of grown werewolf. The air whooshes out of his lungs as he hits the ground, a heavy body landing half on top of him, and he laughs as Derek rolls to one knee, leaves in his hair.

“You’re it,” he says.

Stiles opens his mouth to retaliate when Derek suddenly freezes, eyes flashing blue and lips curling back in a feral snarl.

“Derek?”

Fangs and claws sprout and Derek takes off. Stiles lunges forward, catching hold of the hem of his t-shirt, and is nearly yanked off of his feet by the force of Derek’s motion.

“Derek, stop! Scott invited them!”

Derek spins on Stiles, growling. “You don’t get it! You’re human! You don’t understand just what they did!”

Stiles takes a deep breath and sets his hand on Derek’s shoulder carefully, mirroring his actions on that horrible night. “You’re right. I don’t understand it. He was your pack. But what you need to understand is that Scott doesn’t have them here because he wants them here. Scott invited the Alpha twins so that he can keep tabs on them, and trust me, I hate that they’re here every bit as much as you do. What they did may not mean the same thing to me as it does to you, but that doesn’t make me any more forgiving of their actions. But I have to suck it up, and so do you and Cora. Speaking of, we should find her and give her this same little chit-chat. Let’s keep tonight from being a bloodbath, okay?”

Derek’s fangs and claws recede and his eyes fade to human green. He’s pissed, but resigned. “Okay.”

“Then let’s play some more tag. This is supposed to be a good night.”

Derek nods and leads the way to find Cora.   

 

 

The next day, Derek wakes Stiles around noon with an unexpected call.

There’s another body in the woods.

And so it goes. 


	3. Inferno

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I would hope you'd all recognize the quote from this chapter, but if not, it's the famous inscription on the gates of Hell in Dante Alighieri's The Divine Comedy. 
> 
> I was going to have this chapter and the last one fused together, but then it seemed more apt to split them into two parts, so that's why this one is so short.

Stiles’ immediate thought is, ‘ _We should have fucking killed Peter when we had the chance._ ’ But when he gets to the preserve, jarring his Jeep as he brakes too quickly out front of the ruins of the Hale house, Derek takes one look at him and the expression on his face from where he’s standing on the charred porch with Cora and he says, “It wasn’t Peter.”

Stiles slams the door of his Jeep shut and walks over to the Hales with his arms crossed defensively over his chest. “What makes you so sure, huh? We haven’t seen him in over a _month_ , and in case you don’t remember, he’s off his fucking rocker.”

“You haven’t seen the body,” says Cora. “It wasn’t Peter.”

“Show me.”  

Derek and Cora get into the Toyota the elder sibling has taken to driving and Derek tells Stiles, “Get in.”

“Where are we going?” Stiles asks. “I thought you said the body was in the woods.”

“It’s several miles out,” Derek explains. “So unless you’d rather walk for a few hours…”

“Driving’s good.”

Stiles gets into the passenger seat behind Cora and Derek guides the van out of the long driveway and back onto the stretch of highway that runs along the woods. Derek drives north, trees flashing by in a blur if Stiles leaves his eyes unfocused. After about ten minutes, Derek pulls over on the side of the highway, gravel crunching beneath the wheels, and he and Cora hop out of the vehicle. Stiles gets out shortly after and he hears the click of the doors locking. Stiles jumps with surprise as he sees something flying at him and he raises his hand reflexively to catch the water bottle. His eyebrows draw together in confusion and he looks up at Derek.

“I thought the whole point of driving out here was so that we wouldn’t have to hike.”

“There’s still a good half-hour walk into the woods to reach the body, and just a fair warning: it’s not pretty,” Derek says.

“You’re lucky you don’t have our sense of smell.” Cora grimaces. “I’m just glad this happened when it’s almost winter instead of the summer.”

“Thanks for the thought,” Stiles says.

They cross the street and head into the forest, traveling east. The ground is hard and dry beneath Stiles’ feet. California’s winter rains haven’t quite set in yet. The walk is mostly quiet, backed with the soundtrack of wildlife and the occasional murmur from one of the Hales for Stiles to watch his footing, but as they near the site of the body, Stiles notices that the animal noises hush. He can feel the hair on the back of his neck standing on end and there’s an eerie feeling he just can’t shake. It feels unnatural. Stiles takes a nervous sip from his water bottle.

“We’re almost there,” Derek whispers, as if even he doesn’t want to break the strange silence that’s been imposed here.

“Are you squeamish?” Cora asks quietly.

“Uh…” But before Stiles can answer, they come out to a small clearing and he doesn’t need werewolf senses to smell the blood. Stiles’ heart skips a beat as he takes in the scene in front of him.

The man is nude, positioned in a perverse mockery of Jesus on the crucifix with his feet together and his arms spread, hands palm up. He appears to be middle aged and his blue eyes are open wide and staring at the heavens in death. But that’s not what’s caught Stiles’ eye. What Stiles is looking at is the way the man’s torso has been split open, ribcage broken and pulled apart like the killer was performing an autopsy. He’s been eviscerated and his ropey intestines have been stretched out in an arch above his head and outstretched arms like the sun peeking over the horizon. Inside his chest cavity, his lungs have been nudged aside to expose his heart, which upon closer inspection appears to have _teeth marks_ in it, like it’s been partially eaten.    

Stiles feels sick. His head is spinning and his lips move to form words without really processing it.

“’ _Through me you pass into the city of woe: Through me you pass into eternal pain: Through me among the people lost for ay. Justice the founder of my fabric moved: To rear me was the task of power divine, Supremest wisdom, and primeval love. Before me things create were none, save things Eternal, and eternal I endure._ ’”

“’ _All hope abandon, ye who enter here_ ,’” Derek finishes, and their eyes meet with shared dread.

Stiles calls his father.

 

 

In Welsh legend, Myrddin Wyllt has several experiences with Threefold Death. As a test of his skill, he prophesizes how a boy will die. The boy is presented to him twice more in disguise, and each time, Myrddin offers a different cause of his death: falling from a rock, hanging, and drowning. When the boy grows up, he has a hunting accident. He falls from a rock and is caught in a tree on the way down. He comes to rest upside down with his head in a lake and drowns.

Myrddin predicts his own death by falling, stabbing, and drowning. He is later driven off of a cliff by shepherds and lands on a stake left by fishermen with his head underwater.

Stiles thinks that sounds better than being disemboweled and having your heart eaten.

So it goes.

 

 

Once Derek declares that he doesn’t smell any werewolves on the body, the case is handed over to Stiles’ dad and the Sheriff’s office, where the FBI then take interest and annex the case for themselves. Stiles’ dad keeps them updated on what the forensic team turns up while Stiles takes over the supernatural research.

“There’s got to be _something_ ,” Stiles reasons. “Just because Derek can’t smell it doesn’t mean it’s not there. I mean he couldn’t smell the Darach either. There was something weird about that body, I’m telling you now. The forest was completely quiet—even _Derek_ felt it. It must be something he's never experienced before, something he wouldn’t recognize.”

Scott looks uncomfortable. “Stiles, what you and Derek described doesn’t sound much like a wild animal attack. It seems way too… deliberate.”

“You’re supernatural and you’re still speaking coherently, right?” Stiles gestures at Scott. “It can be supernatural and still be sentient. There’s just no way whatever did that was human. Not entirely, at least.”

“But you heard what your dad said…”

“Yeah, the molds of the bites confirmed that the teeth were human and so was the saliva, but they couldn’t get clear enough impressions to recover dental records and the DNA didn’t match up with anyone in the database. It’s not human.” Stiles says it with finality, allowing no more room for argument. Scott falls silent and watches with concern as Stiles continues ransacking the internet frantically for anything supernatural that’s humanoid and has a propensity for cannibalism. There are a lot of results; mythology is a huge fan of human consumption.      

“If you find anything, let me know, okay?” says Scott. “I don’t want you looking for whatever it is alone.”

“Roger that.” Stiles throws him a thumbs up without turning away from his computer.

 

 

The FBI questions Derek and Cora.

Even though they’re the ones who reported the body and they gave their statements without argument, there are way too many implications regarding the Hales. Derek Hale returned to Beacon Hills just when the series of mysterious animal attacks started occurring and the upper half of his sister’s body was found buried in front of his burnt out property. He was sighted at the scene of the massacre at the police station last spring. The two missing-but-presumed-dead teens, Erica Reyes and Vernon Boyd, were seen associating with him shortly before their disappearance. The serial killings in September ended when Derek disappeared at the end of the month with the sister who reportedly died in the Hale fire. And now that Derek has returned, another gruesome murder has shown up.

There is way too much circumstantial evidence for this to be a coincidence and the FBI knows it.

So it goes.

 

 

The second body shows up in a warehouse in the abandoned industrial district of Beacon Hills. A homeless man stumbled across it while seeking out shelter from the November chill. Stiles doesn’t see it, but his dad tells him all about the report. The body was found the exact same way as the first one, but half of the heart had been eaten this time.

Stiles is glad he wasn’t there.

 

 

Stiles has found several candidates he’s vetting for the killer. So far, the most likely suspects are the Blemmyes, Mono Grande, Aswang, Rakshasa, and the Wendigo. All five are humanoid and described to be at least marginally intelligent. All five are associated with cannibalism or the consumption of human flesh. Personally, he’s leaning toward the Wendigo. He tells Scott and Derek. They tell him to keep looking. Derek goes out every single night to search for traces of the killer, whatever it is. Stiles tells _him_ to keep looking.

 

 

To everyone’s complete and utter lack of surprise, Lydia Martin finds the next body. She comes out of her trancelike state in downtown Beacon Hills and discovers the cadaver in the alleyway between the video store and the corner shop a couple blocks from Derek’s apartment complex. This time the first person she calls is Stiles.

When Stiles gets there, he finds Lydia crouched in front of the video store, leaning back against the wall for support. Her eyes are wide and her hands are shaking. She looks like she might be sick. Stiles hurries to her and takes her hands, pulling her to her feet and into a warm, solid hug.

“Are you okay?” Stiles asks and he winces inwardly. Of course she’s not fucking okay.

Lydia elects to ignore the question. Her voice is uneven. “This isn’t exactly how I planned on spending my Friday night.”

Stiles laughs weakly and lets go of her. “I’m going to take a look at the body real quick, okay? Just stay right here.” He goes around the corner of the building and between the two shops. The victim is a woman this time, and she’s splayed out the same way as the man in the woods. Except her heart is gone entirely and the flesh on the left side of her gaping chest cavity is ragged like some of it has been eaten too. Stiles shivers and takes a seat next to Lydia in front of the store. Then he calls his dad.

And just because Stiles has the worst luck, Agent McCall comes too. While the deputies get a witness statement from Lydia and cordon off the crime scene, McCall saunters over to Stiles.

“Fancy seeing you here, Stilinski,” he says as he approaches.

Stiles narrows his eyes and crosses his arms over his chest defensively.

“You know, I’ve heard a lot of reports mentioning you being found around crime scenes this past year. Isn’t that interesting?” says McCall.

“Well you know me, Mr. McCall,” Stiles deadpans. “Always getting into trouble with my insatiable curiosity.”

“Actually, Stiles, I find I don’t know you so well anymore, nor do I know my own son.” McCall stands in front of Stiles and crosses his own arms. “How well do you know Derek Hale?”

“Derek Hale? You mean the guy whose family burned to death six or seven years ago?”

“Don’t play dumb with me; we both know you’re a smart kid. Several witnesses say they’ve seen you with the Hales a lot lately.”

Stiles glances around and lowers his voice as he turns back to McCall. “Yeah, you know what? I _am_ a smart kid. And that’s why I’m invoking my right to stay silent. You want to question me? Get a warrant.” Stiles finds Lydia by the ambulance with a shock blanket around her shoulders. He pushes it off of her and takes her hand. “Come on, I’m driving you home.”

“Good thinking,” she says.

Stiles is fuming for the entire drive.     


	4. The King of the Winter

Stiles gets a call from the sheriff’s station the next afternoon. He brings his phone to his ear, says, “Hey, Dad.”

“I’ve been arrested.”  And that’s not Stiles’ dad. That’s not Stiles’ dad at all.

“Shit! _Derek?_ Oh fuck, where’s Cora?” he asks.

“Cora’s fine. She’s at the apartment. The FBI are trying to pin all of the murders from the past year on me. They think I’m disturbed. They think I killed Laura and Erica and _Boyd_.”

“Oh fuck…” Stiles’ voice quivers. This is not good. This is so not good. He leans against the wall next to the stairs and slowly sinks down until he’s seated. “Do you have a lawyer?”

“No. Laura and I tried to keep as few contacts as possible when we were in New York.”

“ _Oh fuck_ … Okay, then plead the Sixth. Get an attorney. They can’t ask for shit from you if you request legal counsel. Wait a minute—am I your one phone call?”

“ _Stiles._ ”

“Okay, okay! Oh god, we have to get you out of there. They _can’t_ have you. Best case scenario: you get put on Death Row. Worst case scenario: they find out about werewolves and _then_ put you on Death Row.” Stiles’ breaths start to come in gasps.

“Stiles, relax! _Just calm down!_ I’m not going to be put on Death Row.”    

“What makes you so sure? Oh god, _Derek_ …”

“Because you’re going to get me out of here, okay? You’re going to find the Wendigo and clear my name.”

“What if I can’t? What if I can’t find it? What if it kills me first?”

“Cora, Scott, and Isaac will be there for you.”

“Yeah, but they’re not…” _You._ Stiles makes a distressed noise in the back of his throat. “What if it’s not enough? What if we’re too late?”

“You’ll do it.”

“But I—”

“I trust you.”

Stiles feels a jolt, like for one short second, all of his internal organs decided to cease functioning at the same time. He knows—has known for a while now—but it was always something he knew peripherally, a truth spoken in the language of bodies rather than words. Derek said it when he told Stiles about the Alpha pack last summer. Derek said it when he consulted Stiles and Scott when he was searching for Erica and Boyd. Derek said it when he left Cora, on the verge of death, with Stiles in the ambulance. Stiles thinks, suddenly, of Lydia and Aiden and bad decisions. Wonders if he won’t be Lydia’s after all. Wonders if Derek will be _his_ bad decision. And his heart is thick in his throat as he says, “I trust you too.”

He hears Derek’s breath hitch before he speaks. “We’re going to make it, Stiles.”

“Okay.”

So it goes.

 

 

Stiles throws himself into the search. He makes a rotary schedule for Scott, Isaac, and Cora to make nightly rounds in Beacon Hills to keep an eye out for anything unusual. In the meantime, he goes through the evidence with his dad and employs Lydia’s help to try to find a pattern in the victims. The only commonality that willingly presents itself is that the Wendigo kills all of its victims in semi-secluded places. There seems to be no rhyme or reason to the killings themselves.

Supernatural death, it seems, does not discriminate.

Three days after Derek’s arrest, Agent McCall comes to Stiles’ house. He stares when he opens the door as McCall holds up his badge smugly.

“Hello, Mr. Stilinski. I’m here to bring you in for questioning under suspect of accomplice to murder on multiple accounts.”

Stiles’ dad walks over, saying, “Wait a minute. McCall, you can’t do this. He’s a _minor_.”

“Not for long,” says McCall. “He has, what, five months until he turns eighteen? Look, we can do this the easy way or I can formally arrest your son, but either way he is coming with me.”

“Let me see your arrest warrant.”

McCall takes a sheaf of papers from the pocket of his suit jacket and hands it to Stiles’ dad. His dad skims over them and murmurs, “ _Shit…_ ”

“Shit is right. Call your lawyer.” McCall places a heavy hand on Stiles’ shoulder. Stiles jerks away from his touch but follows him to the black SUV parked in the driveway. He gets into the back seat as far away from McCall as possible. Through the window, Stiles watches his dad hold his cellphone to his ear, talking rapidly as he goes to his police cruiser to follow them to the station.

McCall leads Stiles straight to the interrogation room when they arrive at the station and sets a cup of water in front of Stiles when he sits at the table. McCall sits across from Stiles and waits with a small, unpleasant smile as he waits for Stiles’ dad and their lawyer to arrive and take the seats on either side of Stiles. His dad arrives barely a minute after they do, and the lawyer half an hour after that. McCall goes to the door and collects a folder from another agent before returning to his seat.

“Mr. Stilinski, from what I’ve heard, you have become close friends with Cora Hale recently,” says McCall.

Stiles doesn’t reply.

“Apparently you go to her apartment most days after school—to tutor her, if the improvement in her grades says anything. That’s very kind of you. Now I hear you also have past connections with her elder brother, Derek Hale. You twice accused him of the murder of Laura Hale and later were seen associating with him around town, particularly around the time of the savage animal killings last winter and the serial murders in September. Now that’s a very interesting pattern.”

Stiles clenches his fists under the table to keep his hands from shaking.

“Are you afraid of Derek Hale?”

“No,” Stiles says.

“Has Derek Hale ever threatened your life?”

 _Shit._ “No.”

From McCall’s smirk, he caught the lie. “Are you currently having sexual relations with Cora Hale?”

“No.”

“Are you currently having or have you ever had past sexual relations with _Derek_ Hale?”

“ _No!_ ”

“Objection,” Stiles’ dad interjects. “This line of questioning is inappropriate. Can we get a move on?”

“Of course, Sheriff.” Somehow, McCall manages to look even more pleased with himself. He opens the folder in front of him. “Now you see, my colleagues and I have been putting together evidence and reviewing past cases involving Derek Hale, and we’ve found an interesting pattern. When he was fifteen years old, his girlfriend was killed. She looked like she had been bitten by an animal, but funnily enough, what actually killed her was a severed spinal cord. And what do you know, the body was called in by Mrs. Talia Hale and guess who was clinging to the girl’s body?”

_Oh god…_

“A few years later, the same Hale is seen around town with Kate Argent. Interesting, isn’t she the one who killed his family? Burned them all to death in a fire? The arson happened while Derek was out of the house, and shortly after, Argent and the surviving Hales split. Then last winter, the Argents and Hales return and there’s a bloodbath. Laura Hale is killed, Peter Hale goes missing from the long-term care facility, Kate Argent, and all of the suspects involved in the fire are murdered. Then there was the disturbed Daehler kid. Strange that he would have been able to commit a massacre at the sheriff’s station without an accomplice, isn’t it? Then two teens at your school that have been seen with Derek Hale go missing. Everything quieted down for the summer, but then school starts up and bodies start showing up again. In the end the serial murders were attributed to Jennifer Blake, but interestingly, she was killed the exact same way as Ms. Argent. She was also spotted twice in Beacon Hills with Derek Hale. Hale leaves with his sister Cora—where has she been all these years, I wonder?—and all is silent for the month he’s gone and now bodies are piling up in his backyard.”

Stiles breath shudders in and out of his lungs. He feels sweat beading on his skin and his hands feel clammy. He struggles to keep calm and think of Derek’s voice in his head saying, ‘ _I trust you._ ’

McCall leans forward in his seat. “Now here’s an interesting theory: say Derek Hale was a disturbed youth. His girlfriend gets attacked by an animal and he decides to take it into his own hands and put the poor girl out of her misery. Things grow strained between him and his family after that and a few years later he meets Kate Argent and seduces her. You hear about it happening all the time: a kid gets an older lover and convinces them to help kill their family. So Hale makes sure he’s out of the house and Argent torches the place. They pay off the Fire Marshall to rule the fire as an accident and split town with no foul. Then Laura Hale starts piecing together the truth and comes back to Beacon Hills to investigate, so Hale kills her to keep her quiet, but now he’s paranoid, so he kills all of his and Argent’s little helpers and then calls her up to get rid of her as well.

“But it’s not enough. Hale has gotten a taste of killing after all these years, and he doesn’t want to stop. So he starts hanging around the high school, gains a following of misfit teens, and he meets Daehler. Daehler tells him his story and Hale decides to become a vigilante for him. They partner up and start killing off Daehler’s assailants. Then the sheriff starts finding too much evidence, getting a little too close to the truth, so they go to the station and instigate a massacre. But Hale’s feeling antsy afterward because he’s used to more subtlety. He kills Daehler, but somehow Boyd and the Reyes girl find out what’s been happening, so Hale abducts them and, well, their bodies still haven’t been found yet.

“For spring and summer, he lays low to let it blow over, and then he decides to have a little more fun with his killing. Starts finding more elaborate ways to murder his victims. Hale meets Jennifer Blake and follows his pattern with Argent by seducing her and gaining her collaboration. But when she abducts the parents of the kids he’s been recruiting, he doesn’t like that. So Hale kills her too.

“Now all this time, Cora Hale has been alive. She knows what her brother has done, so she’s been on the run. Hale finally finds her and he keeps her close, threatening to kill her if she tells anyone what he really is. He brings her with him when he leaves for the next month and when his bloodlust grows again, he comes back to his favourite kill zone.

“Now what do you think of that?”

Stiles takes a deep breath, steeling his resolve. He meets McCall’s eyes evenly and says in a nonchalant voice, “I think that’s a very interesting story, Mr. McCall. But that’s all it is: a story. A fabrication. He has issues, that’s for sure, but the Derek I know is not a monster.”

McCall is still smiling. “In the words of Andy Monk, ‘ _there are no monsters in the world, only men and other beasts._ ’ I think it’s time you answered the question I asked you the other night, Mr. Stilinski: How well do you know Derek Hale?”

Without hesitation, Stiles says, “Better than anyone else in Beacon Hills does.”

“We’re done here,” says Stiles’ dad, and they all stand from their seats.

“Thank you for your time, Mr. Stilinski,” says McCall.

“Bite me, prick,” says Stiles.

 

 

The first thing Stiles does when he gets home is call Scott to tell him what happened and demand him to come over.

The second thing Stiles does is have the most intense panic attack of his life.

So it goes.

 

 

When Scott finally manages to bring Stiles down from his panic attack, he tells Scott everything: about Agent McCall approaching him when he responded to Lydia’s call, Derek’s arrest, and the allegations the FBI are trying to make against him. Scott stares hard at the floor, jaw clenched with fury.

“Remind me to buy my mom flowers,” he says.

“What for?”

“For divorcing his ass.”

Scott seems all for breaking Derek out of jail right away. For once, Stiles actually agrees with Derek.

“If we break Derek out of jail, not only will he be a fugitive, but it will make things look even worse for him. Our best bet is to get him out through legal action,” says Stiles. “They can’t keep him in custody if they have no proof against him. No matter how suspicious he seems, they won’t be able to press charges.”

“You’re right,” Scott says reluctantly. “I just hate the idea of him being stuck there.”

“I know, man. Me too.”

Scott looks up at Stiles, examining his face. “You know, you guys have changed a lot when it comes to each other.”

“What do you mean?” Stiles knows exactly what Scott means.

“You still bicker, but it seems almost friendly now. And Derek always seems to defer to you. I mean you were his one phone call.”   

“I’m also the only one with the sheriff as my dad.”

Scott gives Stiles an unimpressed expression.

“Okay, we’re totally friends. Happy now?”

“Of course I am,” says Scott. “Derek and Cora are pack.”

Stiles grins a little, remembering his conversation with Derek about his pack status. “Well I’m glad our friendship has the Scott McCall seal of approval.”

“We’ll get him out.”

“Hey, I promised him first.”

 

 

Stiles knocks on the door of Derek’s and Cora’s apartment. He waits thirty seconds.

Then thirty seconds more.

Knocks again. Waits thirty seconds.

A minute.

“Cora?”

There’s no response.

Stiles cautiously puts his hand on the doorknob and twists to see if it’s unlocked. The door opens easily, creaking softly on its hinges. Normally when you enter an empty building, it’s not silent; you can still hear the mechanical sounds of the refrigerator running or a clock ticking distantly. Not now. When Stiles enters the apartment, it is dead silent.

He leaves the door slightly open behind him out of instinct, giving himself a fast escape as he turns to the right, trying to tread as lightly as possible across the wood floor until his shoes meet the soft carpet of the hallway. He peeks into the bathroom as he passes it, lights off, water off, blue-painted walls bare and linoleum floor clean. He continues past Derek’s bedroom, the one closest to the entrance so that if anyone ever ambushed them, the enemy would have to go through him before it could reach his sister. Stiles feels anger prickle beneath his skin as he thinks of McCall’s accusations, as if Derek could ever hurt Cora.

At the end of the hall, Cora’s bedroom door is slightly open. Anger gives way to cold fear and he says softly, “Cora?” Stiles opens the door wider and steps inside the bedroom. His heart stops.

Cora’s eyes are wide and terrified, cheeks streaked with tears. She’s lying naked on her bed in her Beta form, feet together and arms spread-eagled, and the white bedspread beneath her is stained red with blood. Her insides have been strung along the headboard like tinsel and her heart has been eaten in its entirety, leaving her vena cava, aorta, pulmonary veins, and arteries longing for a home in the hollow of her chest. Above the bed, in her blood, is written, “’ _THERE ARE NO MONSTERS IN THE WORLD, ONLY MEN AND OTHER BEASTS.’_ ”   

Stiles _screams and screams…_

“Stiles! _Stiles!_ ”

Someone is grabbing Stiles’ wrists. He fights back harder, kicking out. There’s a muffled “ _oof!_ ” but the grip doesn’t relax for a second.

“Stiles, wake up!”

Stiles’ eyes burst open and he sees his dad looking down at him with concern. Behind his eyelids he can still see Cora’s body and the blood-soaked duvet. He throws himself to the side to lean over the edge of his bed and vomits, stomach heaving. He coughs and his dad’s hands slide up to his shoulders and rub his back soothingly.

“Shh, it was just a dream,” he murmurs.

Stiles’ skin is damp with cold sweat and he can feel his entire body trembling violently. His eyes are watering with more than the sting of bile.

“Dad, I need my phone,” he croaks.

His dad hands it to him from his nightstand immediately.

Through some miracle, Stiles manages to navigate to his list of contacts with clumsy fingers and dial the number he needs right now. He presses the phone to his ear with a low whimper.

_Ring!_

_Ring!_

_Ring!_

_Ri_ —

A sleepy grumble. “Hello?”

“ _Cora?_ ” Stiles says in a small voice.

There’s the sound of shuffling and then a long suffering groan. “Stiles, it’s four in the morning. Why the fuck are you calling me now?”

A sob breaks out of his chest against his will and then he can’t stop. Tears course down his face and he curls in on himself because he’s so _relieved._ Cora’s alive and he can hear her _voice_.

“Stiles, what’s wrong?” she sounds concerned now, and Stiles laughs a little.

“Nothing. Everything’s _alright._ Well okay, not _everything_ , but you are and I thought you weren’t so… _fuck_.” He takes a few deep breaths. “Can I come over?”

“Right now?”

“No, in ten years.”

“I’ll unlock the door.”

“No!”

Silence.

“I mean not until I get there, okay? Then by all means.”

“Be quick about it; I want to go back to sleep.” She hangs up.

Stiles lets out a long sigh and sets down his phone. He turns to his father with pleading eyes.

“Oh _hell_ , kid. You really think I’m going to say no after that?” says his dad. “I’m not completely heartless.”

“Thanks, Dad.”

“Yeah, yeah. Come here.” His dad pulls him into a tight hug, cradling the back of his head, and Stiles clings to him, craving the safety of his parent’s arms.

“I love you, Dad.”

“I love you too, son.”

Stiles feels guilty that his dad is cleaning up the mess next to his bed while he brushes his teeth and changes into clean clothes, but he knows it’s mostly so that they can leave faster. During the drive to the apartment, his dad glances over at him every so often to make sure he’s okay and when they arrive, Stiles asks him in a quiet voice to go to the door with him. They go up the elevator together and Stiles’ hand shakes a little as he knocks on the door. His dad squeezes his shoulder.

Cora opens the door within fifteen seconds and Stiles throws himself at her, arms holding her close so that he can feel her heart, whole and beating against his chest. She stumbles back a few steps out of surprise and awkwardly pats his back.

“Should I ask?” she says.

“You don’t want to know,” says Stiles. “I’m just so fucking relieved.”

Cora meets Stiles’ dad’s eyes over his shoulder in a silent plea for help.

His dad just smiles and says, “You two take care, alright? I’m going to sleep for a few more hours before I have to get up for my shift.” And then he closes the door in front of him before leaving.

 

 

In the end, Scott and Stiles are both right.

Isaac caught the Wendigo in the act of disemboweling a young woman in the parking lot of Beacon Hills Elementary School. He immediately sent a mass text to Scott, Allison, Cora, and Stiles, and Stiles called his father to tell him what was going on.

The Wendigo, according to Algonquian myth, has been described as a humanoid beast that evolves from a person who partakes in cannibalism. What Stiles is running from, as he dashes around the side of the elementary school toward the playground equipment, looks decidedly human to him. In fact, the man is even dressed in a button-down shirt and an argyle cardigan.

The smooth stones give beneath Stiles’ feet as he propels himself faster, sliding around beneath the grips of his shoes and nearly causing him to hurtle forward as he lurches for the stairs. He yanks himself up by the bars, metal clanging, and he scrambles into the plastic tube slide, using his feet and hands to hold himself somewhere in the middle where he’s hidden. He pants for his breath, heart pounding in his chest. Cora said she’d be right behind him. He struggles to keep as quiet as possible, straining to hear what’s going on outside of his mustard-coloured tomb.

There’s a slapping sound as a pair of hands slams down on the bottom of the slide and Stiles jolts, looking down between his legs to see the blood-covered face of a man in his thirties, red mouth open and panting as he grins up at Stiles.

Against his will, Stiles finds himself recalling Agent McCall’s words: ‘ _There are no monsters in the world, only men and other beasts._ ’

“Mr. Barnes, you don’t want to do this,” says Stiles, backing up. “Seriously, I wasn’t _that_ terrible.”

Mr. Barnes ambles forward, planting one foot on the bottom lip of the slide.

“Hey, Ed!”

Stiles releases the breath he was holding as he hears his father’s voice, but his relief doesn’t last for long. Mr. Barnes only hesitates for a moment before he lunges toward Stiles. Two gunshots fire in rapid succession, impossibly loud in the confines of the slide, and blood sprays out of Mr. Barnes’ torso as he collapses onto his face. Stiles stares at the growing pool of blood on the plastic beneath Barnes’ body.

Hands grab Stiles beneath his arms and he yelps, flailing, before he realizes that it’s Scott and the werewolf pulls him up impatiently.

“You okay?” he asks.

“Y—yeah. Where’s Cora?”

“Right here!” Cora waves from the edge of the stone pit where she’s walking over to stand next to his father. Isaac and Allison are standing on the roof of the elementary school. They were under strict instruction not to injure Barnes so that Stiles’ dad could take care of it.

“Everyone good?” Stiles asks.

There’s a chorus of affirmatives.

Stiles sags with exhaustion against Scott. “Then let’s call the cops and get this shit over with.”  

 

 

Edward Barnes was a first grade teacher at Beacon Hills Elementary School. He taught Scott, Stiles, Isaac, and Cora when they were kids. When Stiles was eight, Barnes’ wife died in childbirth. When Stiles’ mother died a year later, Barnes even took Dad out for drinks a few times because he knew how it felt to lose someone so important.

Over Thanksgiving break, Barnes took his daughter up north to visit family in Banff. While they were skiing in the mountains, there was an accident and the glacier they were skiing on collapsed, trapping them for ten days before they were found by rescuers. In the fall, ice severed Barnes’ daughter’s right leg at the knee. She went into shock and died of blood loss within an hour.

Having expected the ski trip to only be a few hours, Barnes never thought to pack provisions. On the fifth day, driven half mad by grief and starvation, Barnes consumed his daughter’s severed leg and hid the remains when he was found several days later, claiming he had no idea what happened to the other part of her leg in the fall.

A Wendigo spirit must have taken interest in Barnes as he ate the flesh of his daughter, and the rest, as they say, is history.

And so it goes.

 

 

With the dental impressions and the DNA sample matching Barnes’, Derek can no longer be held legally responsible for the deaths.

The official story is that Stiles and his friends were going out for a midnight walk on the weekend when they came upon Barnes and his victim. Stiles immediately called his father and they ran. When the sheriff arrived, he tried to reason with Barnes but was forced to shoot when he persisted to attack the sheriff’s son.

Stiles insists on driving to the station to pick up Derek by himself. As soon as he walks in and sees Agent McCall, a shit-eating grin spreads across his lips.

“How’s the paperwork going, McCall?”

“Just because Hale isn’t responsible for _these_ murders, doesn’t mean he’s not responsible for the rest of them,” McCall sneers.

“Yeah? Well prove it. Oh wait, you can’t. You have no proof. Looks like you’re going to have to let Derek go.” Stiles crosses his arms.

McCall smiles back sarcastically and murmurs to a deputy. She heads back into the holding area and returns moments later with Derek, safe and sound. Derek carefully schools his expression as his eyes meet Stiles’ and it takes all of Stiles’ willpower not to break his composure and run to him. Derek signs a release form and then he’s by Stiles’ side, their shoulders brushing.

“Is that all?” Stiles asks McCall.

“For now.”

“Cool. Later, Special Agent Bob.” Stiles taps Derek’s arm and heads towards the exit with the werewolf in tow. He calls over his shoulder, “And by the way, Dickprince, Derek would die before he ever hurt Cora.”

 

 

A silence falls over them as Stiles drives Derek back to his apartment, and they unbuckle their seatbelts as soon as Stiles has parked his Jeep in the lot. But neither of them moves.

Because what do you say now? Derek trusted Stiles. Derek openly _admitted_ to trusting Stiles. And the number one rule of Derek Hale, of this man who has faced so much, experienced so much hurt and been betrayed so many times, is that trust is _everything._

“Thank you for keeping Cora safe,” Derek says quietly.

And even though it really was the other way around, Stiles says, “Anytime. I want her safe too.”

“Thanks for getting me out of there.”  

And Stiles bites his tongue for a moment because this could go one of two ways. He could say, ‘ _You’re welcome,_ ’ and they could continue their strange, vitriolic friendship with its intervals of peace.

Or Stiles could make a _bad decision_ and tell Derek, ‘ _You trusted me,_ ’ and ignite whatever this is between them. Draw it out into the open like the beacon this toxic town has become. He could find out what exactly it is and it could be terrible; it could be the worst decision of Stiles’ life. Or maybe it could be the best one.

Stiles decides to take a leaf out of Lydia Martin’s book, it seems to be working out for her so far.

“You trusted me.”

And Derek stares at Stiles with that vulnerable look he gets sometimes, like he’s been laid bare, and his voice is a little breathy as he says, “Yeah, I do.”

And that’s what does it for Stiles, because Derek uses the _present_ tense, and so he twists to avoid the steering wheel and leans over to close the distance between them, because suddenly it feels like a gulf and Stiles needs him here _now_. He reaches with his left hand for Derek’s jaw to anchor himself, and then their lips are brushing together in a kiss more gentle than Stiles ever thought Derek was capable of. Derek’s hand finds Stiles’ shoulder and gives it a squeeze, and then they press their mouths together just a little harder before finally drawing back. Their lips are slightly parted and they stare into one another’s eyes like they can’t bring themselves to look away. Stiles brushes his thumb along Derek’s cheekbone, transfixed by the slight dilation of Derek’s pupil against grey-green irises.

Derek blinks, breaking the spell, and then he leans back, eyes falling to his lap. He opens his mouth, but before he can speak Stiles interrupts him and says, “It’s okay. I get it. The whole thing with Jennifer just happened two months ago.” Stiles rights himself in his own seat, but he snakes his right hand between them to twine his fingers with Derek’s. “But I can wait. I’ve already decided, so whenever you’re ready… well, I’ll be here.”  

Derek looks at Stiles, eyebrows slightly raised in that wide open look.

Stiles smiles warmly and he squeezes Derek’s hand. “Now go see your sister. I know you’re both dying to check up on each other.”

A wolfish grin breaks out across Derek’s face and he gives Stiles’ hand a squeeze in return before he opens the door of the Jeep and slides free. “I’ll see you around?”

“Yep. Later, dude.”

Derek shuts the door and jogs over to the door of his apartment complex. Stiles watches as he heads inside and he hums to himself with satisfaction as he turns the key in the ignition, bringing the Jeep rumbling back to life.

And so it goes. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you all enjoyed reading this as much as I enjoyed writing it! Thank you to all of you for your support!


	5. Epilogue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I could not fucking resist.

_Three months later._

“We need to talk.”

“ _Oh god,_ ” John Stilinski groans. “Can I get in the door first?”

His son waves a hand at the air around him vaguely. “By all means! Welcome home, Dad. Home, sweet home.”

John shuts the door behind him and brings his lunch bag to the kitchen, removing Tupperware containers and a fork wrapped in paper towel to wash them. If Stiles wants to have a talk, that typically means one of two things: Stiles has gotten himself into trouble. Again. Or trouble has found its way to Beacon Hills. Again. Either way, it’s nothing good and John’s dread only deepens when he finds Stiles seated at the dining room table with his hands clasped in front of him on the wood. Stiles gestures at John’s usual seat and the sheriff feels, suddenly, as if he’s just walked into a board meeting. He rolls his eyes and sits down, planting his elbows on the table, and looks up at his son.

“Alright, cut the crap,” he says. “What’s happening this time?”

“The accusations!” Stiles brings a hand to his own chest in mock hurt. “I am shocked and offended.”

“Get a bandaid and quit deflecting. Now what’s up?”

Stiles chews his lower lip for a moment. “Well, Daddy dearest, I must preface this with the fact that I love you and I have always respected you and your job…”

“ _Jesus Christ…_ ”

“Now let’s not bring Jesus into this!” Stiles deflates with a sigh. “I’m dating Derek Hale.”

“Okay.” John waits for the other metaphorical shoe to drop, looking at his son expectantly.

Stiles raises his hands as if he’s trying to hold back a storm. “But don’t worry! This thing just started—well, the interest has been there for a while, but it’s only official now. I turn eighteen in a month—”

“Please don’t put me in an awkward position as the county sheriff,” John says with a grimace.

“I wasn’t done yet! I was going to say that it doesn’t matter anyway because Derek wants to take things slow.”

“Derek’s not the one I was worried about.”

“So much _pain_ , father of mine! Have you no faith in your only son?”

“That’s debatable.”

“ _Anyway!_ No sex is happening in the near future, so no, I will not be putting you in an awkward position as the county sheriff.”

“Thank goodness I know the details of my son’s sex life.”

“ _Dad!_ ”

John chuckles. “Just be safe about it when you do decide to take that step in your relationship, and for god’s sake, _don’t_ initiate another talk when you do, because there are some things that a father just does not want to know about his son.”    

Stiles sits up straighter, eyes wide and alert. “So you’re okay with me and Derek dating then?”

“Make sure he comes for Sunday dinners and tell him that he doesn’t have to bring anything but himself.” John gets up from the table and heads toward the stairs so that he can change into his casual clothes before Stiles manages to work himself up any further. He makes a mental note to pick up a few steaks from the grocery store now that the weather has been clearing up with the approaching spring.

 

 

Stiles and Derek are sitting next to each other at the dinner table and they’re very pointedly _not touching._ Stiles is trying too hard to look comfortable and Derek has given up all pretenses that mask how intensely uncomfortable he is. Derek politely declined a glass of wine, asked for a glass of water instead, and John takes a sip from his own glass now to hide the smirk that keeps trying to come out to play. If these two last—and given Hale’s track record and the Stilinski blood in his son’s veins, they will—John is going to cherish this moment for years.

“Well,” says Stiles, “this is a very lovely dinner, Dad. Derek and I appreciate it very much.”

Derek slowly turns to give his son a very judgemental glare. Good to see that regardless of relationship status, some things never change.

“So, Derek,” John says, “are you working anywhere right now?”

Derek stills, like a predator that knows it’s under threat. “Not at the moment, no.” He forces a smile.

John tries not to laugh, clicking his tongue instead. “Well I’m sure your skills extend beyond howling at the moon and playing Beacon Hills’ sole protector, so you’ll find something soon enough.”

“Yes, sir,” says Derek, dropping his head and taking a quick bite of steak to occupy his mouth. John knows that it’s a ploy to deter him from asking more questions. Time to break out the big guns.

“No need to be so formal! Call me Dad.”

Derek chokes and there’s a thump as his knee hits the table. Stiles jumps up and pats Derek’s back frantically.

“Dad, _Jesus Christ!_ Leave him alone! Are you trying to kill him?!” Their faces are both red; Stiles’ from embarrassment and Derek’s from lack of oxygen. John guffaws.

 

 

“So that was… disastrous.”

Derek gives Stiles Scowl #35; Category ‘I Hate My Life and Everything in it, But Not as Much as I Hate You.’ They’re standing on the porch of the Stilinski house after the first of Stiles’ father’s ordered Sunday dinners. Stiles ignores the look on Derek’s face and leans a little closer so that their forearms brush together where they’re resting on the wood railing. When their knuckles touch, Stiles curls his pinkie finger around Derek’s. The physical affection is still new and tentative to the werewolf, so Stiles doesn’t attempt anything more than that.

When Derek doesn’t blink, Stiles cracks and says, “Okay, it wasn’t _that_ bad! I swear my dad doesn’t hate you now or anything. He’s just being a sadistic jerk and gathering fodder for his own twisted amusement. Actually, that’s probably a good thing. If he didn’t approve on at least some level, he’d be going to the Argents for more wolfsbane bullets. Instead he just thinks he’s hilarious while the reality is that he’s being terrible and humiliating.”   

“I can see where you get it from,” Derek says.

Stiles gapes at Derek with affront. “You think you are so funny.” He bumps their sides together as he changes gears. “So how did Cora end up doing on that chem assignment?”

“Really well, actually.” A small, proud smile forms on Derek’s lips as he thinks of his younger sister. “She got an A+.”

Stiles grins. “Now would you look at that? I guess she doesn’t really need a tutor anymore.”

“Nope. I’ll have peace and quiet in my apartment at last.”

“You _wish_.” Stiles extracts his finger from Derek’s and stands back, punching his shoulder playfully. “I’ll be seeing you tomorrow after school.”

Derek turns to Stiles with a grin and leans in to kiss him lightly, but Stiles winds his arms around Derek’s neck to hold him there and kiss back a little harder. When Stiles finally releases him, Derek’s lips are tinted red.

“I’ll see you tomorrow then,” Derek says, and then he’s leaping over the railing and stalking toward the Toyota parked on the street in front of the house.

Stiles smiles breathlessly after him and murmurs to the figure he knows is standing in the doorway, “Dad, you are dead to me.”     

So it goes.

**Author's Note:**

> Track my ass down on Tumblr at thecomedownchampion.tumblr.com


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